


Slushies, S'mores, and Sand

by protectoroffaeries



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Beaches, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, Summer, Summer Vacation, Swearing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: Alex gets a summer job down by the beach.





	Slushies, S'mores, and Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo ~ it's just me with another AU. Thanks to iwritetrash for listening to me talk about this for like three days straight. 
> 
> I know half of y'all don't read my tags, so I'm telling you right here, right now, that there's sex in this fic. It's pretty vague, but it's there.

The lack of air conditioning in  _ Sandy’s  _ is a real problem in June. It's the first week of summer break, and Alex is already sweating his ass off at work in the tiny convenience store just off a  private strip of beach where the wealthy come to party and throw away their money for eight weeks in the summer.  _ Alex _ isn't wealthy, hence the crappy summer job, but his aunt lives two towns over, and he figures that if he gets the beach goers to like him, he might earn some high tips. That, and Maria Lewis is working here, too. They go to school together at Columbia, even hooked up once.

Maria is also sweating her ass off. She's dragged out a folding chair from the back room and is fanning herself to keep cool, while Alex has moved the one electric fan the store has to face the one register they have, and now he's doing his register-manning duties by leaning against the counter and trying not to melt. Luckily, no one's come by in a while; everyone's probably in the ocean, fighting off the goddamn heat.

_ Sandy’s  _ is a quirky little store. They sell shirts, hats, and swimsuits, which isn't weird, and they sell frozen meals and canned food that can easily be whipped up in the private beaches’ cottages, which probably cost an arm and a leg to rent. There’s an entire section of things that people undoubtedly forgot to bring along, like toothbrushes and shampoo. There are about a thousand toys crammed into the store's three aisles as well, most of which are junk. And there's a slushie machine and a freezer behind register with Alex, which means half the time he's mixing slushies and scooping ice cream while ringing people up. So it's a little strange, to have so much stuff in such variety in place as small as _ Sandy's.  _ It can get pretty hectic, too, if a bunch of people try to come in at once. 

“I’m going to die of heat stroke if this keeps up,” Maria mutters, snatching an overpriced bottle of water from the mini fridge that sits beside the counter and tossing a dollar at Alex. He rings up her purchase, and she comes to lean against the counter on the side opposite from him. She's come to steal some of the fan's weak comfort.

Alex sighs, at her and at the heat. “It's going to get hotter in July.”

Maria groans, a sentiment that Alex can agree with. The little bell above the door chimes and a little girl in a sundress waltzes in like she owns the place. It's not uncommon for children to come in on their own, and a quick glance out the store's windows tells Alex that there's an older girl, who looks to be her sister, out there waiting for her to return.

“Hey, there,” says Maria. She's better at that fake cheer thing than Alex is. “Need some help?”

“No, thank you,” says the little girl. She can't be more than seven or so. “I can order for myself.”

“Yeah?” says Maria, stepping away from the counter so that the girl can come up to it. Her head barely peeks over the counter’s edge, but she tries to throw an arm over it anyway. Alex isn't sure why; his only guess would be that she's seen people in movies put their elbow on a counter or a bar and lean over it. It's funny, anyway, in a cute sort of way.

She brushes the curly hairs that have escaped her ponytail off her freckled face with her free hand, and then she says, “Can I have a slushie, please?”

Alex glances over at Maria, who's trying not to giggle. He wants to be grumpy because of the heat, but he can't help but crack a smile, too. “Sure. What size, and what flavor?”

“Small. All the flavors. Even the sour one,” she says, and Alex raises an eyebrow. They have thirty-five different slushie flavors, all lined up on a makeshift shelf jammed next to the machine. Sometimes teenagers come in and ask for a mix of all the flavors, but from their reactions, Alex doesn't think it tastes very good. And then they have sour syrup to turn any of the flavors into a sour bastardization of its original.

“You sure that's what you want?” Alex asks.

“Yes,” says the girl, and as if to prove her point, she slides him a five dollar bill across the counter.

Well, if she's certain. If she doesn't like it, she can always order another one. Alex pours the slushie base into a small cup and puts a pump of each flavor - and a pump of the sour syrup - into the cup. He gives it a little stir with a straw and then pops a lid on it.

The girl takes her slushie eagerly, and when she starts drinking, she doesn't so much as flinch at the awkward flavor combination. She just keeps on sipping the whole time Alex punches her slushie order into the register and counts out her change.

“That's gross,” Maria murmurs as the door swings shut behind her, and Alex has to nod in agreement. But whatever keeps the kid happy, he supposes.

The week trudges on slowly after that, with the heat only intensifying as the days pass. Alex keeps thinking that it'll have to break eventually, but it doesn't. The sun just keeps chugging along relentlessly. Not a single cloud in the damn sky.

Alex works every day, and most days, Maria is there, too. By the end of the week, they've restocked all the hats four times, been yelled at by two angry, burnt women complaining about various store products (but surprisingly  _ not _ the sunscreen), and made at least two hundred and fifty slushies. And this is just week  _ one. _

The cute little girl with the bad taste in slushies comes in every day, and every day, she orders the same thing in the very same way. On the second day, she introduces herself as Polly, and apparently her sister, Marth, does not like slushies, which Polly and her brother find horrifying. Alex starts to find that Polly's appearance and chattering are one of the highlights of his day, which is probably pretty sad, but hey, Maria says the same thing. There's not too much happening at  _ Sandy's.  _

At the end of the week, in the early afternoon, a man comes in. A very handsome man with nicely toned arms and a skintight shirt that does him a number of favors.  He's about Alex and Maria’s age, and he comes straight up to the counter and leans on it with one elbow. Like he's trying a little too hard to be cool. Alex is working behind the counter, and the gesture immediately reminds him of little Polly.

Then Alex does a double take, and he realizes that the man  _ looks  _ a bit like Polly. His skin's a little lighter, although it's far from pale, and he has freckles all over him, too, although he has more of them. They have the same curls escaping the same low ponytail. The huge difference, of course, is that Polly is just a cute kid that makes Alex smile, while he would let this man nail him to a wall, even in this godforsaken heat.

“Can I have a slushie, please?” the man asks, mimicking Polly verbatim. Or rather,  _ Polly _ is probably mimicking  _ him _ whenever she comes in. This guy is probably her brother, or maybe a cousin. If he's as old as he looks, the age difference is pretty big for siblings. Although, now that Alex thinks about it, Polly’s sister Marth looks quite a bit older than her as well.

“What size, and what flavor?” Alex asks.

“Large.” Well, there's another difference. “All the flavors.”

“Even the sour one?” Alex asks, and the man gives him a questioning look before confirming that he wants the sour syrup, too.

When Alex hands him the slushie and the man slides him a five across the counter  _ just like Polly,  _ Alex can't help it anymore. He bursts out laughing, and the man gives him a look like he's gone absolutely nuts.  _ Great job,  _ Alex scolds himself mentally,  _ you're scaring away the hot guy. _

“I’m sorry,” Alex says aloud as he counts out the man's change, “it's just - do you have a younger sister named Polly?”

“Uh, yeah,” says the man.

“She comes in every day and orders slushies the same way you do,” Alex tells him. “It's cute.”

The man's perplexed expression is immediately replaced with a smile. “Cute, huh? Me or Polly?”

Is that  _ flirting?  _ It sounds like flirting to Alex. And here he thought nothing was going to come of this summer job beyond the new textbooks he's going to buy with his paychecks.

“Both of you, but,” he gives the man an appreciative glance in a very obvious manner, “in different ways.”

The man's smile grows wider. “My name's John,” he says, and he doesn't look away from Alex as he takes his change. Alex can't seem to look away from him, either; it's a miracle that they don't drop quarters everywhere.

“I'm Alex.”

“Well, Alex, my friends and I are having a bonfire tonight around nine. If you're free then, you should come. We're over in cottage twelve,” John says.

“Bonfires aren't allowed on the beach,” Alex says, and then he wants to smack himself, but John just laughs.

“Yeah, we're a bit rebellious. We'll also give you a beer even if you're under twenty-one,” he says, and Alex can hear the underlying question,  _ how old are you,  _ through the casual comment.

“I'm twenty-one,” Alex replies. Now he's leaning on the counter like an idiot, but he can't help himself. It's like he's drawn to John or something. Man, he really needs to get laid. It's been too long, obviously, if he's putting this much stock into a near stranger. Maybe John can help him out with that problem.

“Awesome,” John says as he picks his slushie up off the counter. “I have to run, but remember: twelve, nine, be there if you can.” He gives Alex one final once over that makes Alex  _ shiver _ even though it's hot as hell outside, and then he's gone.

Alex's shift lasts until  _ Sandy’s  _ closes at seven, and he has trouble focusing throughout the rest of it. Maria notices and teases him for it, but he doesn't offer her any explanations as to why he's suddenly tripped up. Honestly, it's embarrassing to have such an intense interest in this guy right away; he hasn't felt like that since he was like sixteen. Sure, he's found people attractive at first sight, but… this felt different. Which is definitely something sixteen year old Alex said at least once.

Alex doesn't want to drive to his aunt’s just to turn around and drive right back, so he texts her and tells her that he's going to be late. Then he wanders in the direction of cottage twelve, even though he's really early. Not like he has anything better to do, and John can easily tell him to go away if he's interrupting some pre-bonfire thing that near strangers aren't privy to.

It's only seven-thirty when he gets to John's cottage, but he knocks on the door anyway. It's in that moment that he realizes he's sweaty and grimy from work, and that he's wearing clothes that are like three summers old now. One of  _ Sandy's  _ other quirks is that there isn't a uniform, but more of a loose dress code.

John, on the other hand, clearly has money and hasn't been working all day. Alex wonders if he works at all. Alex's appearance didn't seem to bother him earlier, but they were only around each other for a couple of minutes. What if John's actually one of those elitist assholes?

The door swings open before he can think much more about it. Polly is standing behind it, and she beams at him. “Hi, Alex.”

“Hey, Polly. Is your brother here?”

Polly giggles. “He's under the cottage,” she says. That isn’t what Alex is expecting, but he supposes that it would be a lot stranger if the cottages weren't all on stilts in case of flooding. He hears kids talking about playing under them all the time, but John's a grown man.

_ “Under?”  _ he echoes, and Polly giggles even more.

“Yes, he's in the sandfort that Laf and Herc built.” Alex doesn't know who or what a Laf and a Herc are, but before he can ask Polly to clarify, a man yells from inside the house that she needs to come take a shower and go to bed.

“Coming, Papa,” she calls back, and then to Alex, she says, “Just go down there.” Then she shuts the door and leaves Alex to figure out what to do next.

He eventually decides to do exactly what she suggested; he climbs down off the cottage's tiny front porch and gets down on his knees. There's a surprising amount of room for him to crawl, and he calls out a tentative, “Hello?” as he worms all the way under. 

There's a sudden drop off a few feet in front of him, and a head full of fluffy hair pops up from beyond the drop after he calls out. Alex is not expecting that, to say the least, and he yelps in surprising, jumping and slamming his head against the bottom of the cottage.

_ “Désolé,”  _ says the man who startled him, “I did not mean to frighten you.”

Alex rubs the top of his head with one hand, but the most that accomplishes is getting sand in his hair. There's so much fucking sand that he wonders why anyone would want to hang out here.

“Who's there?” calls a voice from further away.

“A guest,” the man answers, and then to Alex, he says, “Who are you?” He has a light French accent, and Alex wonders why he's here and not in Europe. If Alex were rich, he wouldn't vacation at this beach, or even in the United States at all, but he would do plenty of things differently from people who actually have wealth.

“I’m Alex,” he says for the second time today, “uh, John invited me.”

“Ah, you are Polly's friend?” says this new man. Alex doesn't know how he feels about that moniker; it makes him sound like a bit of a creep, calling him the friend of a seven year old girl. “She is pleased with your slushie-making skills. Apparently, you do not harass her about her poor taste like the boy last year did.”

“Poor taste, my ass!” shouts John from beyond the drop off before Alex can respond.

“Your ass would probably taste better than that slushie,” suggests yet another person from beyond the drop off. Alex wonders how many people fit down there; from his current position, he can't tell how wide or deep it is. He thinks  _ it _ might be a giant pit in the sand. Hopefully they're not having the fire  _ under  _ the cottage - that would be pretty fucking stupid.

“My ass is a delicacy,” insists John, and Alex bites his lip. He's obviously joking with his friends, but…

“Alright, alright, that's enough about Jack’s ass,” says the first feminine voice Alex has heard down here. That's what, four people? All hanging out in a sandpit beneath a cottage. Yeah, that's not weird at all.

“If you would like to come down,” says the man who startled Alex, “you will have to leave, go around the back of the cottage, and use the stairs into the fort. Otherwise, you may destroy the walls.” Oh, so it's a fort, not a pit. How old are these people? John  _ looks  _ Alex's age, but if they're still building sand forts, they could very well be younger than they look. Although, Alex knows some guys back at Columbia that do shit that's more stupid, and they're his age. So that isn't exactly an indicator of maturity.

Alex crawls out from underneath the cottage, and then he walks around the outside of it until he's on the back side, which is the side that faces the water. It's low tide right now, but even at high tide, the water comes nowhere close to the cottages themselves. There would have to be some serious storms before the cottages - and the sand fort - would be at risk of flooding.

When he gets to the back of the cottage, John is sticking out from under it, lying on what looks to be stairs made of compacted sand and smooth, wooden boards. “Here's the entrance,” he says with a winning smile, “you might have to climb down the top steps on your knees.”

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” Alex teases drily, and John's grin only grows. He disappears down the stairs, and Alex gets on his knees to crawl down after him. It's brighter on this side of the fort; there are strips of what look like glow sticks stuck in the sand on either side of the rudimentary steps, and Alex can see that the fort goes deeper into the ground than he could've imagined. At a little past halfway down the stairs, Alex can actually stand up completely without slamming his head against the bottom of the cottage again.

The first thing he notices when he gets into the actual fort is that it's considerably cooler down here than it is at ground level. It's refreshing, and Alex can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Then he starts glancing around - and  _ holy shit,  _ the fort is  _ impressive. _

It's fucking wide, almost as wide as the cottage itself, although Alex would guess that there are few feet on each of the three sides without the stairs that are at ground level, like the front side that he initially crawled on. But more impressive than the width is the depth; standing at the bottom, it's at least a foot taller than Alex, and then the bottom of the cottage is like a foot and a half beyond that. The walls, which are probably made of damp, compact sand, are reinforced with wooden slabs that line the walls that Alex didn't notice before. There are electric lanterns placed strategically across the ground, or hanging off nails in the wood, which gives the huge space a comforting glow. Off to the left and right sides, the walls aren't straight down; rather, they're at lazy inclines. John and his friends are on the left side, and they seem to have hollowed out seats for themselves in the sand of the incline.

“Grab a beer and come over here,” John says, and he pats a hollowed patch of sand beside him. Alex looks around for the beer and finds a cooler against the straight wall, along with an ungodly amount of snacks piled around it in various containers. He fishes out a bottle of Sam Adams, prys off the cap with the bottle opener lying on top of the cooler, and makes his way over to John and co.

“This is pretty cool,” he says as he sits down in the spot John made for him. John drapes his arm around Alex’s waist right away, an action that Alex only encourages by leaning into it.

“It's Laf and Herc's brainchild,” John says, and he points his beer bottle in the direction of two guys, one of which is the French guy that startled him earlier. The other is a shorter, solidly-built guy with buzzed hair.

“I am Lafayette,” says the French guy before Alex can ask, “and this is Hercules.” He taps his companion on the shoulder.

“Laf's name is actually a mile long,” Herc says, “but no one can remember the whole thing. Rumor has it that his grandma forgot the right order once, and she's cared for him most of his life.” 

Lafayette smacks Hercules on the back of the head, but interestingly enough, he doesn't dispute the comment. Alex thinks it's pretty funny, if it's true.

“And this is my other sister, Marth,” John says, ignoring his friends’ antics. He motions to the only woman present. Alex vaguely recognizes her from the times he's checked to make sure Polly has an adult with her.

“Hey, Alex,” Marth says.

“Hey, Marth. What do you have against slushies?” he asks, remembering one of Polly's comments from earlier in the week. That causes all of them to burst out laughing, Marth included.

“Too sugary,” she says when the laughter dies down. “They give me  headaches, and I already get some awful headaches without encouraging them.”

It's nice to sit there and talk with them. Laf and Herc tell him about how they built their fort, although Lafayette won't tell Alex all their secret techniques, like he's going to steal them and become the better sand-builder or something. Apparently, they used John's other siblings to carry sand out from under the house to minimize the risk of the whole thing caving in on them, and Marth helped with some of the interior design. They had a table down here yesterday and spent the afternoon playing cards, which Alex has to admit is pretty fucking awesome. John didn't help with the construction because he goes to college in fucking Geneva, and it took him a few extra days to get back to the states. He got here late last night, and his sister teases him for already bringing someone home. If Alex had a little more shame, he'd probably blush, but he doesn't, so that isn't an issue.

Around eight-thirty, Laf and Herc scramble out of the fort and start getting the fire ready, which is not happening in the fort like Alex initially feared. It's happening down by the water in an effort to keep anything aside from the wood from catching fire. Marth goes with them, winking not-so-subtly at John as she goes.

“Your sister's acting like you're about to get lucky,” Alex says mildly after Marth leaves.

John takes a sip of his beer, which is his second one of the night judging by the empty bottle next to him. “I hope she's right,” he says.

“You sure about that? I’m kind of a mess from work,” he admits, the annoying insecurities from when he first arrived creeping back in. Alex is usually confident in himself - too confident, some might say - but he's not far enough out in left field that he thinks it'd be sexy for them to fuck in his current state of filth.

Maybe his tone was a little touchy, because John gives him this look like he's trying figure out what went wrong. “You can use our shower, if you want,” John says, “and we don't have to do anything. You can just hang out if you want. You seem like good guy, Alex, and I, I wouldn't want you feel uncomfortable… or anything.”

“I'm not uncomfortable,” Alex assures him quickly, because the last feeling he has about sex with John is discomfort. “I'm just gross right now. I'd take your shower offer, but these are the only clothes I have with me.”

“You can wear some of mine,” John suggests. Alex almost protests, but John scoots down to the bottom of the fort and holds out his hand to help Alex get down, too, and then John is guiding him out of the fort by the hand, and Alex can't bring himself to interrupt the moment. He's interrupted too many moments in his life with his loud mouth, but not today.

The temperature has dropped a little outside when they emerge, but it's still not as cool as the temperature in the fort. John leads Alex along the side of the cottage until they get to one of doors, and then he holds the door open while Alex walks up the couple of steps that lead to it.

Alex steps inside, and John slips past him and grabs him by the hand again. It's not necessary for John to lead him by the hand, and part of Alex wants to feel indignant at the gesture, but he likes the feel of John's hand in his too much to complain about the childish treatment.

“Here's the shower, and there are towels under the sink,” John says, kicking open the bathroom door with his foot. “I'll just go upstairs and grab you some clothes.”

“Wait,” Alex says as John's hand slips from his. John stops, and Alex looks him over. He's all lean muscle and freckles, and Alex has this stupid, overwhelming urge to curl up against his chest and beg John to cuddle him. Not even fuck him, although Alex wants that, too. “You want to join me?”

John blinks at him, and then his eyes go wide. He closes the small distance between the two of them, and he cups Alex's jaw with his hand before drawing Alex into the kiss that he's been aching for since he first saw John. The kiss is better than he could've imagined; John's no passive participant. He nibbles at Alex's lower lip and licks his way into Alex's mouth. Fuck, if Alex doesn't feel like he's melting again, but this time the heat's coming from inside him. He reaches up and threads his fingers into John's hair to pull him closer and give the kiss a little more direction. John kisses him harder, little moans are coming from one or both of them, and  _ fucking hell,  _ Alex needs this. He needs John. He needs John to fuck him senseless, preferably right now.

But John pulls away far too soon, breathing heavy and face flushed. “Go take a shower, Alex,” he says, voice a little uneven.

Alex pouts. “You're not coming?”

John grins back at him. “Later.”

“...was that a pun?” Alex deadpans, which only make John grin wider.

“I'd prefer not to get yelled at by my dad for using too much water while I'm trying to enjoy all you have to offer,” John points out, and yeah, that's a fair point, although he's not sure John's father has to worry too much about one water bill if he can afford to bring all his kids here in the summer. Alex doesn't say that, though. He's not  _ that _ rude.

Alex goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He starts peeling off his sweaty clothes and turns the water on cold, which is more refreshing than shocking when he steps under it. The cold spray helps against the heat - outside and in. He uses the smallest bit of shampoo to scrub his hair because it feels greasy, and then he uses the bar of soap to foam up a clean washcloth he found underneath the sink next to the fresh towels.

At one point, he hears the door click open, and John says, “I'm leaving your clothes on the sink.”

“Thanks,” Alex replies, and then, for good measure: “Sure you don't want to come in?”

“As tempting as that offer is, I'm still passing. Come out back when you're done, alright? We're making s’mores.”

Alex finishes up his shower a few minutes later, and after he turns the water off, he snatches his towel off the sink and dries off in the shower so that he doesn't make the floor a puddly mess. He throws on the clothes John left for him, which are a little long for him, but they're not tight. He's surprised to find that he's comfortable; John is built so differently than him that he thought this might end much worse.

Alex bundles his dirty clothes into a neat pile and carries them out with him. He sets them by the stairs to the door, figuring that if he forgets them, he can probably just come back for them later.

The bonfire is roaring high when Alex goes around back. John sees him right away and waves him over, and Alex is quick to take a seat next to him in the sand. The sun has set, mostly, but it's still humid as all hell. Not exactly the best environment for a bonfire, but it doesn't seem to be bothering anyone else, so Alex doesn't say anything.

“Alex,” Marth says, and when Alex looks over at her, she hands him a metallic, two-pronged stick with a handle made out of some nonconductive material. On each of the prongs, there's a marshmallow. Right. S’mores.

“You must burn them!” Lafayette declares from across the fire. His fingers are sticky with marshmallow and chocolate; Alex wonders how many s’mores he's already had.

Herc swats at him. “Not everyone has bad taste like you.”

“Where do you get off insulting everyone's tastes, Herc?” John demands, and Lafayette makes a noise of support for that question.

Marth longsufferingly mutters, “Keep it down, boys, Jemmy and Polly are asleep.”

“We're not even close to the cottage,” John protests, but he takes a sip of his drink - water now, not beer, Alex notices - instead of continuing his banter with Hercules.

Alex takes his marshmallows and holds them on the outskirts of the flames. He doesn't like his marshmallows burnt, or even browned. Just a little warm. When he's satisfied with how they feel when he pokes them, he grabs the graham crackers and a bar of chocolate from beside Marth. Then, he realizes that he didn't think this through, because he doesn't have enough hands to keep his marshmallows safely out of the sand while assembling the rest of the s’mores.

“Need some help?” John asks. Alex nods and hands him the marshmallows, and then he gets to work putting together two s’mores on his knee.

“You want one?” he asks John when he takes the marshmallows back and slides each of them atop the chocolate.

“No, thanks, I already had one,” John says.

Alex puts the top graham crackers on each of the s’mores. “Are you going to reject me all night?” he asks bluntly.

John laughs, and then he grabs Alex by the hips and pulls him onto his lap like Alex weighs nothing. Alex yelps and scrambles to grab his s’mores so that they don't fall into the sand, but once they're safe, he's very content to lean back against John's chest. John hooks an arm around him and rests his chin on Alex's shoulder while Alex munches on his s’mores.

When he's eating, Alex makes the cheap excuse of trying to get comfortable so that he can wiggle around on John's lap, and John sees right through him. “Eager?” he murmurs in Alex's ear, low enough that he can't be heard over Laf and Herc's playful squabbling.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Alex says.

“Uh-huh.” John isn't buying it. Good.

“Would the two of you get a room?” Marth interjects, throwing an unopened bag of marshmallows at them. John catches it with one hand and tosses it back at her.

Unfortunately, in Alex's opinion, they don't ‘get a room’ right away. They sit by the fire for a little longer and tell stories. Alex makes another s'more while Laf and Herc try to tell a scary story without bursting into giggles in the middle of it. Marth tells a chilling story about sea demons that pull people underwater and drown them, which makes Alex want to avoid the ocean for the rest of his life. John refuses to tell a story, though Alex doesn't know why, and then Alex shares one that his brother told him when he was little about ghosts that get too attached to the living.

Eventually, the fire starts to die down. “We're going to turn in,” Herc says, not long after Alex finishes his story. Lafayette yawns, and the two of them get up and head for Laf's cottage, which is the one right next to John and Marth’s. Apparently, the reason the fort isn't under their cottage is because of ‘sand differences,’ whatever the hell that means.

“Are they together?” Alex asks as he watches Lafayette attempt to lean on Hercules as they wander across the sand.

“Yeah,” says John, “cute, aren't they? Marth's hoping they'll get married one day so that she can plan their wedding.”

“Oh, shut up,” Marth mutters, “the only wedding I'm planning is  _ yours,  _ and you'll be dressed like the goddamn fairy princess that you are.”

Alex feels like he's somehow stumbled into inside joke territory, and he shifts awkwardly at the reminder that he's only known these people for a couple of hours. John's grip on him tightens when he starts moving, and the awkwardness is replaced with a hopefulness that they can finally screw now.

John must be thinking the same thing, because he says, “Hey, Marth, can you put out the fire?”

Marth gives an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, yes, go on.”

Alex doesn't need to be told twice. He hops up, and John gets up after him. John takes his hand just like he did earlier, but instead of leading him to the door this time, he stops in front of the steps that lead to into the sand fort.

“You're kidding,” Alex says as the implications of their location dawn on him.

“Yeah, well, that's the thing,” John tells him, sounding a little embarrassed. “I'm not.”

“Down  _ there?  _ John, I'll get so much  _ sand  _ up my-”

“I made a blanket pile. So, there shouldn't be  _ too _ much sand. Maybe a small amount,” John interrupts, and Alex wonders when he had the time to stuff a bunch of blankets in the fort.

“Why can't we go inside?” Alex asks.

John sighs. “We'd wake up my siblings, for one, and my dad would kill me if he caught me having sex with a man under his roof,” he says.

Alex raises an eyebrow and points out, “Technically, we’re still under his roof if we fuck down there.”

“I know.”

John's ridiculously hot, but more than that, Alex has come to find over the past few hours that he's funny and sharp, and that they share a lot of the same ideas. He could see them possibly being more than a one night stand - maybe even friends, or more than friends (although that would be a bad idea, since John has to go back to Switzerland at the end of the summer). He likes John, and he wants John, and yeah, he's just now decided that he's actually willing to fuck in the sand. He's not sure if this is a low point or not.

“Alright,” Alex says.

John beams at him, and then he slips down into the fort. Alex can't believe he's about to have sex in a  _ fort.  _ Made of  _ sand. _

He follows John, and low and behold, there is a nest of blankets piled onto one large comforter in the center of the bottom of the fort. It's actually kind of nice because it's freezing down here now that the sun has set.

John starts stripping off his shirt immediately, which is not a move that Alex is about to protest, but he does say, “You have condoms and lube, right?”

“No, I was just going to shove my dick up your ass raw,” John says, words heavy with sarcasm. It sounds like something Alex would say, but he still has the urge to smack John for it.

“What makes you think  _ I’m  _ bottoming?” Alex huffs, even though he's pretty sure he knows the answer, as he yanks off his own shirt. He can't believe he's getting a chill on the same day he thought he was going to die of heat exhaustion. The weather is a bitch.

“You wanna top?” John asks, kicking off his shorts and his boxers. They're not wasting any more time, apparently. John crouches down in the blankets and kicks off his flip-flops last; he doesn't seem nearly as concerned about the sand as Alex is. He laids down in the pile of blankets and fluffs them around him, and then he beckons for Alex to come to him.

Alex is torn between wanting to go to him and wanting him to sit there and wait for a few minutes as retribution for Alex's previous advancements. He ends up standing there and staring for a minute, which was not what he meant to do, but John looks more amazing with the low lantern light glinting off his skin than he has all night.

“Alex?” John says.

“Huh?”

John props himself up on his elbow. “I asked if you want to top.”

“No,” Alex says, “I was just, uh, being an ass.”

John laughs. “No, you weren't. Come here.”

Alex takes his pants off and folds them, and then he places them at the edge of the blankets. He knows that he's not as fit as John, but he's not self-conscious about his appearance, and if the way that John's eyes are raking over him are any indication of  _ his  _ opinion, then there's nothing to worry about.

Alex slides out of his shoes and tries to keep his sandy feet off the blanket with minimal success, and then John just makes it worse by wrapping his arms around Alex and pulling him further into the blankets. His skin is warm to the touch, and Alex leans into it. He enjoys being held, although he would never admit it.

As eager as John seemed to be when he was stripping off his clothes, he becomes slow and gentle when he starts to open Alex up. It's been awhile, so there's a bit of discomfort at first, but thankfully, John doesn’t rush. Part of Alex wants to complain - he's not breakable, he can handle a little roughness - but he doesn't. He lets himself enjoy the smooth slide of John's fingers inside of him.

When Alex is hard and arching back against three of John's fingers, John pulls them out. Alex whines at the loss, and John chuckles and shushes him.

“Lay down,” John says, and Alex leaves his lap to lay back against the blankets and spreads his legs, impatient for John to put on a fucking condom and get inside him already. He can hear John fiddling with the condom wrapper, and then a few seconds later, with the bottle of lube.

“Hurry up,” Alex urges, and then John sliding into him, and he sighs as John drapes himself over top of him. He holds still for a moment, gives Alex some time to adjust, and then he finally,  _ finally _ fucking moves.

Alex talks too much, he always talks too much, and that doesn't change when he's being fucked. He babbles against John's deep breathing, clawing at his back after the particularly hard thrusts. John doesn't make much noise himself; mostly, he just kisses and nips his way across Alex's neck and collarbone. Alex is more than okay with that.

Alex reaches between them to stroke himself when he feels the heat of his orgasm building quickly, and he comes with a loud moan that John cuts off with a heady kiss. It doesn't take much longer for John to finish, and then they lie there and breathe together for a few moments before John pulls out.

“Not bad,” Alex says as John takes off the condom and ties it off. He also wipes up the mess Alex made with one of the blankets, rolls it up, and sets it away from their blanket pile.

“Not bad?” John repeats as he lays down next to Alex. “Asshole. So I guess that means you don't want to do it again later?”

“I never said  _ that,” _ Alex says.

“Uh huh,” says John, “all you did was imply that I'm a mediocre fuck.”

“You're not mediocre,” Alex assures him, cuddling close to John's side. He should find his phone and text his aunt to tell her that he probably home tonight, but he's too blissed out to think about moving right now. His skin is sticky with a new layer of sweat, and there are some grains of sand stuck to him, but overall, he feels fantastic.

Alex falls asleep like that, naked and cuddling a man he only met a few hours before. He sleeps peacefully, without memorable dreams or interruptions, for hours. He drifts awake eventually, though he has no idea what time it is. John is snoring beside him with one of his arms resting lazily across Alex's waist.

Alex is content to lay there for awhile, but eventually he has to pee, so he worms out from under John's arm without waking him and pulls his clothes on as silently as possible. He feels grimy again.

It's dark and quiet on the beach when he emerges from the fort. He pulls out his phone, texts his aunt, and then uses it as a flashlight. He glances in the direction of the cottage for all of one second before deciding that pissing in the ocean is the better course of action.  

When he's done relieving himself, he walks back toward the cottage. John comes out off the fort while he's walking, the flashlight on his phone almost blinding Alex.

“Where’d you go?” John murmurs sleepily.

“Had to pee.”

John makes a little noise of acknowledgement. “We should go swimming.”

“It's like,” Alex checks his phone, “three in the morning.”

“Perfect time to swim,” John says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I just peed over there,” Alex says lamely.

John laughs. “Not a deterrent for me. Pretty much everything that goes in the ocean pees in it.”

“I don't have a swimsuit.”

“We'll just skinny dip, then,” says John. He opens a bin that's sitting by the cottage and pulls out a couple beach towels. Alex follows him down to the beach, uncertain about this plan but unwilling to show it.

Alex has a love-hate relationship with oceans. He grew up on an island, learned to swim at a young age. He used to play all sorts of games with his brother in the water, and he was decent at identifying local sea creatures. Plenty of fond memories. But, the water - and the weather - weren't always kind. If he ever gets the horrors of the hurricane that shook his hometown just before he left out of his head, it'll be a miracle. He can't recall swimming in anything bigger than a pool since. Going in up to his ankles, like he did a few minutes ago, is about the extent of ocean-fairing that he wants to deal with.

The only problem is that he doesn't want to explain any of that to John.

John, who's stripping off his clothes for the second time tonight without a care in the world. Alex wonders where he grew up. How he grew up. It should be more concerning that he knows next to nothing about this guy, but it isn't. Alex keeps waiting for the worry to creep up on him, but it doesn't. He's content. He likes John.

“Are you coming?” John asks.

“Later,” Alex says, throwing John's stupid pun back at him.

John shrugs, but he doesn't ask. He leaves his clothes and his phone on the beach next to the towels that he grabbed, and then he runs into the water.

“It's cold as fuck out here,” he says when the water is up to his waist. John's voice carries in the still of the night, but when Alex glances behind him, all the cottages are dark. Not too loud.

“I don't know what you expected,” Alex replies evenly from the shore. The sand is moist and crumbly beneath his feet, between his toes. 

Alex couldn't say that he imagined himself here, on the beach at three in the morning, when he applied for the summer position at  _ Sandy's,  _ but he's glad to be here all the same. John is adorable, splashing around in the water all by himself, like he's a child and not a grown-ass-man.

Alex doesn't know what the rest of the summer will bring him; he could wake up tomorrow and never say more than  _ hi  _ to John again, or maybe they could become something more, something strong enough to withstand the distance from New York to Switzerland. He can't begin to guess which way things will go, or if they'll go in entirely different directions. But, he has to admit, he's excited to find out.


End file.
